Of Friends and Enemies
by Sue Bridehead
Summary: Any press is good press...right? D/G, one-shot. Written for the 2009 Draco/Ginny Fic Exchange at Livejournal. Nominated for Funniest Fic.


This was written for the 2009 D/G Fic Exchange at Livejournal. It was nominated for Funniest Fic, but alas, it received no votes. I'm glad it amused somebody. The rating is for some crude language.

Here was the prompt: Draco and Ginny reluctantly joining forces and conspiring together - each with very different motivations - against an enemy they are both surprised to find they have in common.

Thank you, Fallenwitch, part beta reader, part cheerleader, part miracle worker. Thank you to the recipient (hope_fuleigh) for a great prompt, to the mods just being there, and to J.K. Rowling for the whole thing.

_**Of Friends and Enemies**_

The bell rang sharply, and Ginny rushed downstairs to get it before Mr. Bisbee, her pet kneazle, woke up and started to growl. The creature had a knack for detecting unsavoury or untrustworthy visitors, sometimes even before she opened the front door. In fact, Mr. Bisbee had once nearly separated George from his naughty bits just for playing a prank that had startled his little sister. He was lucky that day, as he only needed 12 stitches on his inner thigh.

"Yes?" she said absently as she flung the door open. Neither the breeze that swept in nor the questionable character of the surprise visitor had disturbed her sleeping pet. She stopped and blinked, doing a double take. The man at the door did likewise.

"Mrs. Potter?" he said, sounding a little stunned. He thought someone like the Potters would have had a servant or at the very least, a house-elf, to welcome guests at their front door.

"Yes, this is my house, Mr. Malfoy," she replied with a teasing smirk and slightly bemused eyes. "Were you expecting my husband? We are separated, you know."

He nodded stiffly. "Of course, I had heard about that. I'm sorry things didn't work out."

Ginny rolled her eyes and waved her hand at him. "Don't be. It was a childish crush that should have died a long time ago, and now it has. What brings you here, Malfoy?"

"The restraining order you requested has been approved by the Ministry and goes into effect immediately," he said, handing her a roll of parchment.

She took the parchment and sighed with relief. "That's excellent news. Thank you _so_ much. Do come in, let's have a drink to celebrate."

A drink in the middle of the afternoon? She had to be joking. She sounded sincere and not the least bit tipsy. In fact, she seemed quite lucid.

Were the rumours of her being a raging alcoholic unfounded?

"All right," he answered casually, stepping inside the entryway. "I suppose one drink won't hurt." Besides, if she were an alcoholic, she wouldn't be able to stop at just one. He knew that from watching his uncle's drinking over the years.

Taking a sip of his champagne, Draco remarked, "This is excellent, Mrs. Potter. Where do you get your champagne? Do you have it shipped in? My parents always did."

"Actually, my sister-in-law, Fleur, sends me a case every Christmas. It's more than I need in a year! I use it for parties and special occasions." She took the tiniest sip from her own glass.

"You know, I thought it tasted like it came straight from Paris. It's quite good," he said. "So the rumours about your drinking excessively aren't true, then?"

"Heavens, no! It's all for guests." She set her nearly-full glass down, crossed her arms, and narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't tell me you actually believe the rumours that are going around about me?"

"Rumours?" he choked out, as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

Of course, he knew. That's why he had volunteered to pop in on the lonely, soon-to-be-divorcee and check things out for himself.

Ginny's eyes continued to narrow as her face started to turn scarlet. When she spoke, she nearly growled. It was a side of her he had never seen before. "That we've had near-orgies in our home with only Cornish pixies and leprechauns for guests," she began. "That we've actually had several children but sold all of them to fund Ron and Harry's broomstick factory's expansion into China. Oh, I could go on all day! And you tell me you've never heard any of these?"

He looked at her dumbfounded, shaking his head mutely.

"How about the one that I'm a severe alcoholic? Haven't you heard? I'm a lush, a drunk. I'm never seen without a drink in my hand!"

Suddenly, she flew to her feet and threw her champagne glass into the embers in the fireplace across the room. He gathered that the crashing sound served to satisfy some basic need to destroy something.

Draco continued to watch her. "So, none of the rumours are true?" he asked, a little fearful of her response.

"Not one!" she said in exasperation. "Well, as is usually the case, there are specks of the truth. Harry and Ron's broomstick factory is expanding into China. But funding it by selling children? What utter rubbish! Who would ever write such drivel, much less believe it?"

His face sank. "Rita Skeeter," he said softly.

"Exactly! Well done, boy genius," she said, smacking him on the shoulder and picking up the sealed document. "Hence, the restraining order." She opened it with a flourish and read to herself, murmuring passages that especially pleased her. "She is not to come within twenty feet of me, not to seek me out, not to use Polyjuice Potion to acquire an interview, etcetera, etcetera...Yes, everything appears to be in order."

Refolding the document, she said, "Thank you, Malfoy. I appreciate your stopping by to deliver this. It certainly has made my day." She magicked away the champagne bottle, inserted the stopper, and cleared away both glasses. Draco stood up then, taking this as his cue to go.

"You _hate_ Rita Skeeter, then?"

"No, not hate. I loathe her. But isn't that what I just said?" she asked, looking at him as if he'd left about half his groceries at the market.

"Yes, it was. I was just thinking how much I despise her myself."

"Really?" Ginny remarked, somewhat surprised. "I should think her tactics would rather appeal to you. No offense, but I believe she _was_ in Slytherin house."

His expression bland, he said, "None taken, Ginny, none at all."

Now it was her turn to be surprised. To the best of her recollection, he had never addressed her by her first name. She thought his friendly demeanour a bit odd, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, just this once. The few times she had crossed paths with Moaning Myrtle in her last years at Hogwarts, the morose spirit would inquire after both Harry and Draco, each time reminding Ginny what a genuinely decent boy the latter was. "He's just misunderstood - the poor dear," were her words. Ginny had just rolled her eyes and dismissed the ghost as delusional.

"Hermione told me you were Rita Skeeter's informant during the Triwizard Tournament. What's happened to that alliance?" Thinking he might be up to his old bag of tricks, she drew her back up. "That had better not be why you're here, to spy on me. Out with it, and don't bother lying to me; I can get to the truth."

He was starting to think he'd made a mistake in coming here. She could be scary when she was mad; he'd never forgotten her Bat Bogey Hex. "No!" he insisted, aghast at the accusation. "I'm just a delivery boy, that's all." She glared at him without blinking, glanced at her still-sleeping pet on the pillow a few feet away, and made her decision.

"Ron would probably say I'm nutters, but for some reason, I believe you. Please, sit down." They sat on opposite sides of her glass coffee table. She gazed at him, curious.

"What is your issue with Rita, then? Why would you have cause to dislike her?"

He looked down at his knees and started to fidget. She turned her hands outward and raised her brows, trying to prompt him. Still, he said nothing.

"If you ask me," she continued, "her column is nothing more than crass entertainment for the masses. If my life is exploited, if my reputation is ruined, if my family is harassed to further her bloody career, so what? Is that your opinion?" Draco didn't respond and barely met her eyes. Instead, he started to colour. "Well? Am I right?"

At last, he cleared his throat and started to speak. "I know you are sick of all the press you're getting, but that's what I want - more press."

Ginny burst out laughing, causing him to blush even more.

"Are you joking?" she asked through her laughter. "In your mind, that's a crime?" His pale face was scarlet now, and she realised it wasn't just from embarrassment. He was angry with her for not taking him seriously.

She said to him, "I'm sorry. I was surprised that it bothers you so much. Celebrity is not all it's cracked up to be. Ask Harry. I thought it was great, till he and I got married."

Growing more indignant by the moment, he frowned and said, "It's not the fame I want. I just want to be seen. Envied. I go to amazing parties, I'll have you know," he added, trying to convince Ginny of his importance. "A few weeks ago, I was spotted in the Muggle part of Los Angeles with Paris Hilton, the hotel heiress."

Ginny shrugged and made a face that said she had no idea who he was even talking about. "We were in the back of her limousine, expensive drinks being poured, a nice-size telly, music thumping, her girlfriends all around us - and not one of them was wearing any knickers. It was great. When we stepped out, there were paparazzi everywhere, flashing and snapping away on their cameras. I swear, it was like every move we made was newsworthy."

He stopped and took a moment to explain to her, "Paparazzi are Muggle photographers that snap photos of famous people and splash them all over the rags they sell in markets."

"I know what paparazzi are," she said, amused that he thought he could tell Arthur Weasley's daughter anything about Muggles she didn't already know.

Returning to his list of complaints about Rita Skeeter, he went on. "Anyway, you would think with that kind of publicity across the pond, I'd be big news in England as well, especially to the wizarding world. Ha! Fat chance. The stupid cow ignored it completely, even after I anonymously sent her some of the photos and articles from the American papers. She could care less. She hates me, and the feeling is mutual."

"Maybe it's because you gave her bad information during the Tournament," she suggested with a shrug. "We wondered where Rita was getting the lies about Hermione and Harry."

Looking at him now, she could see he wasn't used to disappointment. "Maybe Rita thinks your family's fall from grace was too much, and that writing about you, in any positive light, would make her look bad as well by association."

Stricken, he looked at her as if her words were poison. "So you think that because of my father's mistakes, I no longer matter?" he said, his voice not much more than a whisper.

"No, of course that's not what I meant! It's just that . . . please don't take this the wrong way, Draco, but . . . you're a delivery boy for the Ministry. In the social pecking order in wizarding Britain, that's about as low as Mr. Filch."

Draco picked at a thread on his trousers and sulked. "Still, it would be nice to be - you know, written about, talked about, and acknowledged for something." He explained as he met her eyes, "I'm used to being the center of attention."

"I kind of gathered that."

"Look," he said as he stood up suddenly, "I should probably get back to work."

She gasped, "Hang on. Maybe we can do something that will help us both. Who's your superior down at the Ministry?"

"Mrs. Cherrystone." When she made a face at him, he scoffed and clicked his tongue. "Well, it's not exactly like I could have chosen my boss _or_ my position."

Ginny shrugged as she strode to the fireplace. Grabbing a handful of Floo Powder, she tossed it in and called out, "Arthur Weasley!" A few minutes later, his face came into focus in the flames. "Hullo, Dad. Got a minute?"

"For you, love, I've got several. What's on your mind this afternoon?" the Deputy Assistant Minister for Muggle Affairs asked his only daughter.

"Dad, you remember Draco, Lucius' and Narcissa's son?" she reintroduced the two wizards with a casual glance over her shoulder.

"Of course, I do. I see Draco now and then at the office. How do you like working for Mrs. Cherrystone?"

"She's all right," he answered honestly. "I've had worse."

Ginny bit back a grin and resisted the urge to bring up the late Lord Voldemort, but she couldn't quite keep from snickering to herself.

"What?" he hissed at her.

"Nothing," she insisted quietly. "Now, Dad, could you possibly speak with Mrs. Cherrystone and get Mr. Malfoy excused for the afternoon? He's going to help me with a problem I'm having."

Arthur hesitated. "Well, it is highly unorthodox, but if it's quite important-"

"Oh, yes, it's extremely important!"

"Then consider it done," he told her. Then pointing a finger to her visitor, he warned, "You just be sure you're on time tomorrow morning, Malfoy. In fact, be early. Goodbye, darling." He blew Ginny a kiss then ended the call.

She rubbed her hands together in excitement. "Now, how can we convince her that I'm not worth writing about but you are?" She finished by adding the caveat, "_And_ stay within the law."

Draco sighed. "That part could make things difficult, you know."

"True. But we're clever people, we'll come up with something. Besides, maybe Hermione could help."

"Oh, no," he said, shaking his head. "I am not about to go crawling to her for anything."

"Don't be silly, I'll ask her for ideas. We're meeting for lunch today."

"Really? Well, that is convenient, I must say."

"Yes, really. And I hope you're hungry, because you're going too."

"What?" Draco's eyes widened.

"Relax, you'll be disguised," she assured him.

He shook his head once more and got to his feet. "This is more than I bargained for."

"You're being ridiculous. It's just a little Polyjuice Potion," she insisted, pushing down on his left shoulder to suggest he sit back down. "I'll go get it. You can be Harry. Or would you rather be Angelina?"

"Ginny, I absolutely cannot drink that stuff," he said more adamant than before. "It makes me physically ill. It tastes like chalky mud. I swear, the last time I drank it, I threw up. It was disastrous - a complete waste of time."

She ignored his pleas and brought back a tray with a glass filled with the disgusting drink. Next to the glass were two strands of black hair. Draco's stomach clenched. It wasn't that Polyjuice couldn't be used successfully on him, because it had worked before. He didn't think he could get it down and keep it down.

"Are you sure you don't have a wig?" he begged.

Sighing in frustration, she suggested an alternate plan. "Fine. You can wear Harry's Invisibility Cloak. He never uses it. But I swear, if you damage it any way, the deal is off. Got it?"

"Yes, I get it. We play this thing your way or not at all."

The two of them got ready to go out, she primping her make-up in front of the oversize bathroom mirror and he arranging his hair and smoothing down the front of his shirt. She snorted at his fastidious nature, especially with his hair, which was slightly spiked like the members of a Muggle rock band Hermione liked.

"Don't know why you're bothering with all that, since no one's going to see you," she reminded him.

He stopped and stared at her reflection in the mirror next to his. "Yes, I know that," he snapped. "But I'll have you know, _Ginny_, that how you look - or rather, knowing how good you look - impacts everything in your life, including how you behave." He glanced down at what she was wearing and sneered. "Speaking of that . . ."

"Speaking of what?"

"Jeans, bold choice. Hope the maitre'd is fashion forward."

Ginny set down her mascara and faced him. "For your information, Mr.-Ministry-Errand-Boy-with-a-Dark-Past-but-a-Fascinating-Social-Life, not every restaurant _has_ a maitre'd, or someone standing guard in the entryway, looking down their nose at every customer whose attire doesn't live up to your impeccable standards."

She turned away and resumed her beauty regimen. "Well," he said, "you can't improve on perfection, so I guess I'm done."

She flung the Invisibility Cloak over his head as they approached the front door. He stepped back a bit, grunted, and snarled at her, "Watch the hair, would you?" She rolled her eyes as she adjusted the cloak to ensure his shoes weren't showing.

"Guess you're a little taller than Harry. Let's hope no one notices the edges of your shoes. If it won't kill you, you may have to walk a little slumped over. Pretend you're Goyle."

"Or Millicent Bulstrode."

Ginny chuckled at the insult of his former housemate. "I never knew you were funny," she said.

His bodiless voice said, "Oh, I'm a riot. You should hear some of the shite I've said about you Gryffindors. Had the whole Slytherin house in stitches."

She wasn't laughing anymore. Instead, she dragged the cloak off of him, ensuring his hair would be sticking every which way. "What the fuck?" he shouted. "I told you to watch the hair!"

"And you are in _my_ home, depending on me for charity. Without me, this scheme of yours goes nowhere, so you'd better stop being an arse."

They glared at each other for several moments. "Come on, we're running late," she said at last. As soon as he was under cover once more, the odd allies ventured out the front door.

During Draco's entire visit, Mr. Bisbee never even budged.

* * * * *

"See? I told you Granger was never the brightest witch of her age," he grumbled as they returned to Ginny's house. "Fat lot of good it did to go see her. And I still haven't had any lunch!"

She set her keys down on the front table and told him, "I'm sorry, but I thought it would look strange if food just started disappearing from my plate."

"I know, but did you have to step on my toes underneath the table? Those heels are bloody daggers!"

She ignored his grumbling and bent down to pet her kneazle. As she did, she cooed something to Mr. Bisbee that Draco couldn't quite make out, something soothing and gentle.

Walking toward the kitchen, Ginny called over her shoulder, "I'll get you something from the refrigerator. Come sit down at the kitchen table."

He pouted but followed her anyway. He hadn't eaten a thing since that lousy muffin he'd gotten on the way into the office five hours earlier. She set a sandwich in front of him a few minutes later, which he eyed suspiciously. But when he saw her licking the excess chicken salad off her fingers, he decided it must be safe and tucked in.

"So, what do we have?" she asked as she sat down in the chair across from him.

"Chicken salad. It's delicious. Do you want some?"

"Ha, ha. I meant what options do we have to deal with Rita? Of course, other than what Hermione suggested. As if _that_ would work."

"No kidding," he snorted. "That proves it: Granger is not as smart as she thinks she is."

Ginny chuckled. "I mean, really. Going out together? Could you imagine us, showing up in public places, arm in arm, behaving as if we were best friends? She can't have meant it!" She laughed once more.

Draco picked up the second half of his sandwich then suddenly set it back down. Wiping his fingers on a napkin, he said, "I'm sure she _didn't_ mean it. That's why it's so perfect."

"What?" she asked, confused.

As his meaning slowly dawned on her, the whole dynamic between them changed. Was it madness or a stroke of genius? Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference.

"That's it!" she cried. "Draco, fancy going to the cinema with me this Saturday?"

"Only if we have a late lunch afterward. And since you asked me, you're buying."

"We can go to Muggle London through Diagon Alley for maximum exposure."

"All the little Hogwarts students will all be shopping for supplies. It's brilliant, I tell you. Rita won't be able to resist a scoop like that. And since she can't speak to you, or get within - what was it, fifty feet of you?"

"Twenty feet," Ginny corrected him.

"All right, twenty feet. Then she'll have to talk with me, once you've left." He couldn't resist smiling at the idea.

"Then it's a date," she said as she reached over his plate, grabbed what remained of his lunch, and took a huge bite. "Mmm, this is good! My compliments to the chef."

* * * * *

The two new friends met at her home as agreed on Saturday afternoon at one o'clock sharp. They both stood in the front hallway and preened for their afternoon on the town.

"Did you send the anonymous owl to Rita's office yesterday?" she asked as she brushed her red hair up into a high ponytail.

"Yes, dear."

"And she knows the time?"

"She'd have to be blind and senile not to." He was fussing with his hair to get it just right, although Ginny couldn't see any difference between now and five minutes ago.

She slapped him on the arm and said, "It looks fine, let's just go!"

"No, it's not! I expect to be photographed, and I want to look extra good."

She looked down at his outfit and frowned. "Draco," she said rather cautiously.

"What?" he snapped at her.

She smirked then said, "Jeans, bold choice. Hope the maitre'd is fashion forward."

_~The End~_

**Chapter End Notes:**

I hope my attempt at English spellings wasn't too distracting. I did it to hide my identity during the exchange, although a true Brit probably saw right through it. Thanks for reading; reviews appreciated!


End file.
